


Make This Chaos Count

by Naamah_Beherit



Series: The Journey of a Thousand Miles [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M, gratuitous descriptions of Valarin magic, intellectual seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: Time is running out and Mairon knows he must make a decision. The awareness of that does not help one bit - and on top of it all, neither does Melkor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vampiric_Charms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/gifts).



> The title has been borrowed from a song by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> For **Vampiric_Charms** \- because of reasons. You know which ones. I hope it'll cheer you up a bit.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

"While collecting the stars, I connected the dots.  
I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not.  
I’m just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit.  
Like a magnet it beckoned my metals toward it.  
  
Make my messes matter.  
Make this chaos count.  
Let every little fracture in me  
Shatter out loud."

Sleeping At Last _Jupiter_

 

 

“You seem... distraught.”

It almost made Mairon jump, that sudden remark laced with interest and nearly indiscernible amusement. It broke the silence that had fallen heavy and uncomfortable between them, so he looked over his shoulder at Melkor who was standing close behind him. Almost _too_ close, he realised, for he could practically feel the inferno beyond imagination and the ancient cold that were twirling entwined within the Vala, two absolute opposites stitched together with threads woven from darkness.

“Is that so surprising?” he asked after a while. “I should not be here. I should not have—“

He broke off, unsure of what he ought to do and what should not be attempted no matter the circumstances. Possibilities he was facing were endless and questionable,  and he was fairly certain he was not supposed to be considering most of them even despite not being explicitly forbidden to do so. He had a mind of his own and was able to draw conclusions.

His common sense was telling him that remaining in this place was a mistake which if discovered, would cost him greatly. And thus he kept his flames in check in spite of the song of comfort and belonging chanted softly by Melkor’s spirit.

“The only thing you truly _should_ do is be honest with yourself,” Melkor answered and sat on a windowsill. Below them, the land lay cold and still under the endless sky. “Something is eating at your admirable courage, little flame. Care to share?”

Mairon brushed his fingers against a cool obsidian wall and felt the power of the song that had shaped it, dormant but ever-present, thrumming beneath the surface of the matter like a gentle flow responding willingly to his touch. A daring thought crossed his mind, almost blinding in its boldness, and he hastily pushed it back before it affected him in any way. For just a moment – a brief, exhilarating second precious in its novelty – he wondered if he were skilful enough to undertake an endearment on a similar scale, and thought himself capable of at least trying.

“I have recently been told something that put my actions in a new perspective,” he finally said, pushing those impossible thoughts back where they belonged. “One that is drastically different from my own point of view. It made me consider a possibility that I am making a grave mistake by so much as talking to you, Mighty One.”

“Do you truly feel that way?” Melkor asked after a while when it became obvious that Mairon would not elaborate. “For you have come here, we _are_ talking despite your belief of making a mistake because of this simple, harmless action. Is it really an opinion you agree with, or rather an assumption you have decided to torment yourself with?”

Mairon groaned and stalked away from him, his frustration forcing him to pace around like a caged animal. He felt the Vala’s gaze following his every move, almost as if it were a physical touch of a ghost of thereof, something that should never happen. Physical sensations had no place in their existence, for the Ainur were beings of thoughts and energy, concepts of elements made conscious. Their raiment was meant to be utilised, not to affect them, so why was his neck prickling?

All of a sudden it was too much. The questions, the solitude he had been forced to endure, the longing that would simply not _cease_ no matter how hard he tried to forget that one, brief moment that had brought two spirits together and let them experience comforts of each other’s presence – all of that, too much.

“I do not know anymore,” he said in nothing but a whisper. “I know what I should think and do, and at the same time I neither believe in it nor want to force myself to submit to what is expected of me even though I have no other choice. And this is all _your_ fault.”

Melkor only smiled at that and it made Mairon’s fire roar in rage.

“Do you find it amusing?” he asked and his voice was no longer quiet. “Laughable? Does my torment please you?”

“Do not be ridiculous, little flame,” the Vala chided him. “I have never—“

“But that is exactly what I am to you, is it not?” Mairon cut him in, heedless of the danger he was stomping into. Words were bubbling in his mind and for once he was not going to hold them in. “A little flame to mock and fiddle with, a simple Maia foolish enough to let himself be drawn by your call. You had _unmade_ me and left me to pick up the pieces. And to what end?”

Melkor was looking at him in silence and the intensity of his gaze somehow calmed the Maia down. Or perhaps it was the Vala’s spirit that did it, chanting its soothing songs of encouragement and comfort, leaving behind a warm cocoon of promises.

“Have I ever given you any reason to believe that I find you foolish? Have I ever mocked you?” Melkor asked and no anger rang in his voice. There was only curiosity – still, _always_ – and it baffled Mairon beyond comprehension. He expected rage, not... _this._ “You are fascinating, not laughable or foolish.”

Mairon almost doubled up in laughter at that statement, despite pride swelling in his spirit and impossible hopes that maybe, just maybe, he was not being deceived.

 _Tainted_ , whispered his common sense in Arien’s voice. _Weak_.

“There is _nothing_ in me you would not find in your Maiar,” he uttered with disdain. At what or whom, he did not know. “I am feeble to have listened. Insane to have—“

 _Believed_ , he thought, stopping himself from speaking that aloud.

“Come here,” the Vala said and it unmistakably sounded like an order, “look outside and tell me what you see.”

“What do you—“

“Humour me,” Melkor interrupted, a subtle tune in his voice leaving absolutely no possibility to object. Thus Mairon hesitantly approached him again, fully aware that a new yet considerably vocal part of him was urging him to accept and reveal what he wanted despite consequences that were to follow. Why was he so stubbornly denying himself what he craved?

He wanted to scream and yet found no voice within himself.

“What do you see?” Melkor asked again and his spirit repeated that question in its song.

“Nothing,” Mairon said, perplexed and surprised, his flames reaching out in hope of receiving an advice that would never be given. For there truly was nothing and the wind swept over it.

“Not good enough,” was the Vala’s answer. “What do you see?”

He risked a sideways glance, caught the sight of those icy-blue eyes that made him shiver every time he gazed into them, and hastily looked through the window again. Cold and empty were the plains around the fortress, both in and its surroundings so strikingly different from what Mairon was used to.

“The snow and a bare land,” he said, unsure what this was about.

“Not good enough.”

“The ice and—“

“Not good enough.”

“The accursed cold and wind that—“

“Not good enough!”

The Maia groaned and spun around to look at Melkor again. His gold eyes blazed with the kind of fury he had never felt before.

“What do you want me to say?!” he yelled, trying to find at least a ghost of reason in the question he was being asked. “What would make you satisfied?!”

“I would not bother asking if I merely wanted to hear what I ordered you to say,” the Vala replied in a voice almost as frigid as the air outside.

“Why do you bother at all?”

Melkor was behind him in a blink of an eye, his hands landing on Mairon’s shoulders and forcing him to face the window again, and suddenly that simple touch resembled the weight of the world itself. He rarely allowed anyone to touch him, Arien lately being the only exception, but this... This was wrong.

And perfect.

“You wanted to know why I had given you freedom,” the Vala said quietly. “Answer my question, little flame. Prove me right and _then_ I will tell you. What do you see?”

Mairon found no strength to move away, or perhaps it was simply the will he was lacking. He took in the stillness of the snow and the deadly silence of the frost restlessly pushing both forwards and inwards. He regarded the sky, lit by no light except that given off by veils of power dancing wildly above the fortress, permeating and setting aflame the air itself, painting it colours escaping definition. The landscape was foreign, completely out of place in the world planned to every last detail. It made him uncomfortable and though it was not his first visit in the north, never before had he witnessed it being so desolate and dangerous. He realised that at some unspecified point between ‘then’ and ‘now’ which transcended a simple perception of time, the world had changed and it should not have happened.

On a whim born of nameless and incoherent idea, Mairon focused on what he was feeling rather than on the simplicity of the material world. The song of Eä had always been a source of joy and comfort for him and so he attuned to it again, letting it fill his senses and consciousness with its overpowering rhythm. He knew it by heart, had helped to weave it and explored it after all labours  had been finished. The world had been shaped and ordered to grow according to what had been envisioned.

And now it was changing right in front of him.

There was chaos creeping slowly into the perfect order of Arda and reshaping the impeccably arranged tiles of reality. Tendrils of a new power, boundless and alien, were boring their way through the fabric of Eä slowly but surely, and the matter had no other choice but to align itself alongside them, taking in more and more of that up till both elements were indistinguishable. It was chaotic flux of changes, terrifying and

_(beautiful magnificent it shook the world and allowed it to bask in breathtaking abundance of possibilities and he imagined himself ordering it in accordance with his own plans)_

foreign to its very core. And in that moment he realised there would always be changes, there _must_ be the changes in order for the progress to so much as even occur.

“I see changes, Mighty One,” he said after what seemed to be the eternity itself. He still felt the Vala’s hands on his shoulders. “ _Possibilities_.”

“Ah,” Melkor purred into his ears, his voice full of satisfaction and delight, “there it is, this brilliant mind of yours. This is precisely what I had first noticed in you. Your intelligence. The strength of your will.”

Mairon turned around to face him and those icy-blue eyes were suddenly more alien than the landscape outside.

“Some would say I had been weak to have heeded your summons while others recoil and resist it still,” he boldly said, his willpower empowered by composure he regained when the Vala’s hands slid off his shoulders.

“Some would,” Melkor agreed. “Do you?”

Mairon forced himself to keep his eyes locked with Melkor’s, as if averting his gaze would rip him off what little resolve he could muster. There was not much of it, not when his decisions had been put to a test of solidarity with his kin, and so he let himself to reach out in search of comfort and support despite being pushed away the last time he had attempted such contact. For a brief, world-shattering moment his flames were afloat in a cold, desolate space beyond limits of the material world, alone and lost and cursing his own hotheadedness once more. And then, when he thought he miscalculated, the Vala’s spirit finally reached back and the emptiness was set ablaze.

“I do not,” he finally allowed himself to say and it was both a revelation and a relief. “But I must.”

“Obligations are abstract concepts you need not bother yourself with,” Melkor said softly, his ancient gaze slowly becoming a trap Mairon found himself unwilling to avoid. “You need to know what you desire and construct yourself around it, for the awareness of it is what fuels your growth as an individual.”

The Maia sighed and moved away from him, his hand landing on the wall on its own accord. Power within called to him just like Melkor’s spirit did – and in a way it was a part of the Vala, but he would be unable to explain why he was convinced of that – so he tapped into it this time, immediately aware of how it sprang towards him and whirled around his fingers. He walked and it followed, a bright trail of fire against the surface of the black stone, for the first time making this fortress marginally familiar. Mairon was able to recognise concepts behind its construction, vague ideas seemingly ingrained in their minds so deeply that they were shared by all Ainur. This place was a result of such a concept, a dwelling made to house physical bodies if need be, but the execution was sloppy, details unrefined, and the atmosphere permeating every shadow screamed of something crucial missing. something that should be there and was only noticed because of its absence.

As his fingers traced abstract patterns of music and fractals on the wall, Mairon thought of countless possible things to improve and this time he did not shun those ideas away. He was capable of bringing out to the light this vast, raw perfection he felt just beneath the veil of physical matter. It was a terrifying realisation, one that left his mind reeling and thirsty for more, and his hands itching with suppressed urge to start at that very moment.

“I cannot allow myself to disregard what is expected of me,” he murmured after a long while, his voice distant as his attention was solely focused on the wall in front of him. His fingers ghosted against cool obsidian, sparks following his slightest touch. A circle here, a line there, nothing but endless equations he drew and discarded in a futile search of perfection that changed with his every move. “There are appearances I must keep up in order not to draw attention to me and your... _gift_ of yore. I have managed it so far, it would be unwise now to start acting suspicious and this is exactly what will happen if I take your advice and discard obligations placed upon me.”

He did not need to look at Melkor to feel him approach. The Vala extended his hand to touch the wall and it gave way under his fingers, reduced to a pool of pliant, raw matter. Tendrils of unimaginable cold chased after Mairon’s lines of fire, adding unpredictability to his planned designs.

“Speaking of gifts,” Melkor said absentmindedly, his hands moving almost too quickly for eyes to register as they left the ice flowering where he touched what used to be the wall, “you did not tell me what you thought of your forge.”

“It requires a few improvements,” Mairon smiled to himself and shifted closer to the Vala to burn his way through a particularly obstinate chunk of ice, “but nonetheless you have crafted it well, Mighty One. Surprisingly well, given the fact that you have most likely never seen a forge before.”

“I have constructed what I imagined,” Melkor chuckled, “and my imagination is limitless.”

“I am certain it is so,” he murmured more to himself than to his companion. A part of him was yelling to stop and flee before he got used to the comfort of having Melkor’s spirit at the hand’s reach, but he realised he was unwilling to surrender to that demand. For once he discarded his common sense and it made him euphoric.

“Do you want to know what I imagine when I look at you?”

Those words were spoken so softly and quietly, barely louder that a murmur of breaths against the wind, that Mairon did not register them at first. Then he did and his head jerked upwards, wide-open gold eyes seeking those the colour of mist twirling on the ground where the light of the Lamps gave way to the perpetual darkness.

“I imagine you as a lord on your own,” Melkor continued in a contented purr, “with a crown on your head and fire in your hand. I imagine you proud and defiant, challenging the world itself and winning and leaving nothing but ashes in your wake. I imagine—or mayhap I had seen it, it is always difficult to tell what was in the Music and what is just a possibility.”

Mairon opened his mouth to say something at that, to say _anything_ , but there were simply no words to be spoken after that statement. He shook his head dumbly, but the flames of his spirit whirled in delight that threatened to swallow him whole.

“I imagine you free of hindrances of expectations and restrictions to which you cling so desperately,” the Vala went on and Mairon would beg for mercy of silence if he only managed to utter a single word. “You deserve to be free of constraints and chains, free to do as you desire.”

He felt something well up within him and gain on urgency until he could not contain it anymore. There was a sound, a shrill, unpleasant mockery of a sound he did not recognise at first. It had taken a moment for him to realise it was his own laughter he was hearing.

“And to think I took your words seriously for a moment, Mighty One,” he managed to say, his tone bitter and hurt. Why, why did he feel that way? “You should have brought another Vala with you instead of wasting your time on me.”

“I would not be talking to you if I did not deem it worthwhile,” Melkor retorted, his eyes focused on Mairon as if the Maia were the only being in entire Eä. “It does not concern me that your power is inherently lesser than that of a Vala. Your mind is what matters and it is a thousandfold greater than my brother’s.”

The debilitating jab of icy disappointment, the overwhelming pride and contentment battling his common sense, the innumerable other emotions Mairon was unable to decipher and give meaning to – all of them were swept away when his mind latched onto that carelessly spoken words that made his musings irrelevant. All of a sudden, it all made perfect sense – the disturbing resemblance present even in the most gentle timbre of the voice, the vast power, and above all those eyes that seemed to capture his spirit with a mere promise of the possibility of being able to lose himself in them.

“You are Lord Manwë’s brother,” Mairon breathed, letting his fascination resound in his words. Melkor recoiled instinctively, his carefully controlled face showing disbelief and agitation for the briefest of moments, but his spirit never broke the contact and it was the Maia’s turn to hum a note of comfort and promises.

He smiled broadly, relishing the satisfaction of solving a puzzle he had no awareness of having undertaken. The world was whole and there was—there should be—no missing pieces that would disrupt its harmony. In that world Manwë was the breeze grazing blades of grass with its never-changing fingers. He was the rain whispering between leaves, and the reflection of the Lamplight in a dewdrop. And finally, _finally_ , Mairon knew what Melkor was. The thunderstorm and the volcano, and the dusk falling over the world. He was the end without which there would be no beginning.

Those siblings were perfect reflections of each other that could never escape the distorted mirror and become whole again.

“How did you know?” the Vala asked, his voice for once devoid of curiosity.

“The eyes, Mighty One,” Mairon smiled fondly. “You have the exact same eyes.”

Melkor seemed at a loss for a moment that passed almost too quickly to be registered by the eye, even though it rang greatly in his spirit. The Maia suspected it could be considered a weakness, that one second in which unwanted emotions were reflected on the raiment for everyone to see. It was a curious treat that required further observation.

“Then I suppose alterations are in order,” the Vala chuckled drily and let go of his physical body before Mairon could react. And amidst the darkness that bound together opposite forces of nature, he noticed a glimpse of a blinding light, precious and hidden, and he immediately wanted to cradle it in his arms and immortalise it in his craft. Then just as abruptly as he had cast it away, Melkor wrapped himself in a corporeal form anew.

“Do I still resemble my little brother?” he asked with mockery and Mairon looked boldly into his eyes to catalogue the changes. The Vala’s irises were deep brown now, dotted with red and silver, and somehow they resembled leaves rimmed with frost, a song of autumn at winter’s dawn.

“One would have to look truly closely to notice any resemblance now, Mighty One,” the Maia said. He still did; in a thoughtful frown and the curve of the lips, but only because he could remember Manwë’s serene face that reminded him of that terrifying silence before the approaching storm.

“Then I will ensure no one comes close enough,” Melkor said with a smile that would cause Mairon to flee if he were the reason for it. “However, your observation only proves further I was right about you. There are those who see my brother regularly and have not taken note of our... unfortunate kinship.”

“Perhaps they do not pay enough attention,” he retorted, his curiosity piqued slightly at that remark. He had not seen other Maiar except the fire spirits yet, though he was first to admit he did not care enough to observe the surroundings during his visit.

“Most likely,” the Vala agreed, his gaze yet again focused on the Maia. It was heavy and full of intense interest, but somehow it no longer caused him discomfort. Now it was an anchor, the light guiding a lost soul in a blizzard. “I am yet to sever their connection to him, so their cognition is still limited.”

“Why?” Mairon blurted out before he could stop himself. It was a question that plagued him ever since the same had been done to him. “Why do you do this?”

“Why do you ask?” was the answer he received and the tone in which it was spoken suggested a challenge.

Mairon considered himself more than up to it.

“Do not mistake my question for a reproach, Mighty One,” he said with a bold smile, Melkor’s undivided attention made him light-headed. “I merely want to know what is the point of it... _if_ there is a point at all and not just your whim.”

The Vala came closer and the proximity forced Mairon to tilt his head up. It was slowly becoming an infuriating routine.

“I cannot seem to determine what strengthens your bravery, for it does resurface rather infrequently,” Melkor mused, resting his hands on his hips. “I would rather experience it as a trait you expressed at all times.”

“If I did,” Mairon chuckled, “you would soon curse your wish, for I would be cast out of Almaren and undoubtedly arrive here to torment you without reprieve.”

“And I would welcome you.”

Mairon’s mind went blank.

“But,” Melkor continued as if the Maia’s reaction meant nothing, as if he did not just uproot his entire world and flip it over, “the answer to your question is yes, there _is_ a point to it. The Maiar and their Vala are a closed, impenetrable organism. So are the Valar and Eru. They are... circles if you prefer such a metaphor. Power and thoughts flow freely, shared by everyone in that that circle. It never changes and despite the flow, all that is born within it is just another rendition of what had already been done. It is a trap of inertia and stagnation, little flame. Do you know how it can be changed?”

He took another step forwards until he was a hair’s breadth from Mairon, one of his hands finding its way to his shoulder again. He touched the Maia’s forehead with the other one just like he had done all those ages ago, his fingers cold as the Void itself.

“It cannot be,” he whispered, “so you have to nurse your will until you become strong enough to break the circle. Only then you can truly be yourself, because as long as you are inside that wonderfully comfortable net of minds, you cannot do so much as even think independently.”

He broke off and brushed a strand of Mairon’s hair from his face before letting his hand fall loosely to his side.

“Your brilliancy and boldness, your wit and uniqueness,” the Vala murmured, his quiet voice shaping words as a secret meant only for Mairon’s ears, “all of it would be lost if you remained in Aulë’s circle. You would dim and wither, becoming merely a shadow of what you used to be. I could not let that happen.”

The Maia desperately craved to point out flaws in that argumentation, chased for lapses of logic to argue with... and found himself speechless. His heart told him to listen and accept what he was being told, because for once it was not _him_ who came up with the wildest ideas.

 _I would welcome you_ , was all he could think about, the only words worth remembering in a world full of inconsiderate and meaningless comments. The fact that his mind seemed to have wrapped itself around that statement was pitiful and weak and definitely should not have made him so... _happy_.

“And so you said to every fire Maia you could find, did you not?” he asked, frantically trying to discourage his overly eager spirit. He looked for all doubts he had ever mused on, picked them up and poured into his words, finally giving voice to incomprehensible passage of time he had spent on chasing innumerable ‘whys’, to all those moments he had pushed himself in the forge beyond his limits because it had been the only way to forget. “You promise things unimaginable until no other possibility remains but to listen and fall for them, even if it is unwanted. She resists you still, you know? Arien. The rest of us heeded your song and yet there she is, strong and resilient and capable of being everything I have failed at. I have... Why _us_?”

The grip on his shoulder tightened and Melkor’s other hand suddenly was below his chin, tipping it upwards so that those new, brown eyes were his only focus.

“Because I had been denied the Flame Imperishable,” the Vala whispered in a hoarse, low voice. A _dangerous_ voice. “So I took from Eru all those remaining, precious shards of it he had been keeping to himself.”

“Did we ever have a choice?” Mairon somehow managed to ask, his voice shaky just like his legs. He tentatively grabbed Melkor’s arm in an attempt to steady himself – or perhaps to push him away even though he had no energy to do that.

“Ask yourself that question, little flame, not me,” the Vala admonished, his voice gradually regaining its usual tone. Mairon wondered briefly how disastrous his rage would be. “Have I ever forced you to do deeds you did not want to? Have I dragged you here? I _offer_ and what you do with it is your own decision. All of you seem to prefer my company instead of Eru’s or whatever Vala you had been taken by.”

“You had given me no choice once.”

“And yet you did not ask Aulë to take you back.”

That simple statement was casual, flippant even, but the realisation brought by it was absolutely profound and caused the Maia’s own image of himself—or rather what was left of it—to shatter and crumble.

And he did not know how to pick himself up.

“Arien,” Melkor mused in the meantime, his fingers still resting under Mairon’s chin. “Is that the name she had been given?”

“Yes,” Mairon answered, noticing a fleeting glimpse of what seemed to be a grudge. If he had not been looking right into the Vala’s eyes, he would have missed it. It forcefully reminded him of the past he had no knowledge about and for the first time since he could remember, he felt nonessential and did not like it. “Vána has taken her in, she is—“

“She is no longer significant,” the Vala cut him in, a sly smile forming on his lips. He dropped his hand and Mairon immediately rubbed his chin, fending off the lingering chill and the memory of that touch. “After all, you have made me consider the possibility that I was chasing after the wrong fire spirit this whole time.”

Even though curiosity nagged at him, Mairon chose to forego potential inquiries in favour of a façade of haughty indifference. Pretences were all he had left.

“She will reveal your summons if you continue singing it,” he said instead, trying to prevent exhaustion from being noticeable in his voice. He wanted to crawl into the fire and rest, to ignore those maddening questions and insecurities his mind was drowning in, to forget the feeling of comfort washing over him.

He desperately yearned for a possibility of convincing himself that he did not want to remain in this place. At _his_ side.

“Ah,” Melkor muttered with satisfaction and his smirk turned into a wide grin, “so she is the one who has caused you to doubt your judgement, is she not? You would not know so much about her otherwise.”

Mairon did not utter a single word, but somehow his silence was enough of a reply.

“Does she know about your freedom?”

“No,” the Maia immediately answered with finality that surprised him. He was meant to keep her safe, to keep her _away_. “She does not know. Never will.”

Or so he hoped, but the dreadful certainty that sooner or later she would find out about the state of his mind destroyed his composure and made him restless. It still pained him, that moment when he had lied to her and she had believed him, her entire being full to the brim with unconditional trust and misery to great to be put in words.

And now Melkor’s eyes seemed to bore into his spirit, stripping it bare and inspecting every single emotion that troubled him. It was terrifying how willingly Mairon let him do that.

“You care about her,” the Vala slowly said, the realisation apparently being a shocking one.

“Of course I do,” the Maia agreed, making a great effort to suppress an unexpected impulse to laugh at Melkor’s befuddlement. “She is my kin, I have no one else.”

A moment of silence that followed his confession stretched beyond the measure of comfort, beyond reason and the point where comments would be justified. All he could do was leave, and so Mairon forced himself to turn around and drag his physical body towards the exit from the chamber, his spirit pitifully lingering behind, entangled as it was in the comfortable cocoon of the Vala’s fire.

“You will always have a place here, little flame,” Melkor abruptly said and even though it did not directly address his last remark, it was obvious where it originated from. “You are well aware that I would be delighted to have you.”

The Maia thought it was impossible for him to crumble further, but when a blinding jolt of longing surged through him, he realised he had never been more wrong.

“Mairon.”

It took all his strength of will to bite back a desperate sob that threatened to escape his lips. It was the first time Melkor spoke his name ever since he had learnt it, and it would have made Mairon undone if only anything had been left of him.

“Will you join me?”

He had once dreamt of a direct question and now that it was finally asked, he wished he were once again left with vague hints to pick up. What had once been theoretical musings, was suddenly wrapped in words and it made his dilemma real and terrifying. Mairon turned around, pleas for time on the tip of his tongue... and the calm look of those brown eyes that spoke volumes to him stilled his dread and struck the deepest note of his being.

And suddenly there was only one answer he could give.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm also on tumblr](http://naamah-beherit.tumblr.com/) in case you wanted to drop by and say hello, or simply see what I do instead of writing.


End file.
